The Canadian wilderness stretched endlessly in all directions, a vast tapestry of dense forest that seemed to swallow the horizon. The landing platform where the flying train had deposited them sat like a scar in the landscape, a circle of concrete and metal amidst the organic chaos of nature. The air was crisp and cold, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, and the silence was almost oppressive after the constant mechanical hum of the train.
Angela stood near the edge of the platform, watching the agent robots efficiently unload their minimal luggage and prepare the underwater vehicle that would carry them to the Netherlands. The robots moved with perfect synchronization, their actions precise and emotionless. She flexed her fingers, feeling the synthetic skin pull slightly over the mechanical structure beneath. The sensation was always there a reminder that she wasn't quite human anymore, no matter how real she looked on the surface.
Eve stood a few feet away, her posture rigid, her head tilted slightly as if listening to something the others couldn't hear. Her crimson eyes synthetic but somehow expressive in ways that shouldn't be possible for a machine scanned the tree line with an intensity that suggested she was searching for something specific, though Angela couldn't imagine what.
Carmilla was in her element, moving between the agent robots with quick, efficient gestures, checking specifications on holographic displays that materialized in the air at her touch, barking occasional commands in technical jargon that Angela only half understood. She seemed to have completely recovered from the emotional devastation of William's death, her grief buried beneath layers of professional competence and strategic planning.
The underwater car sat in the center of the platform, sleek and dark and vaguely predatory in its design. It looked more like a deep-sea creature than a vehicle, with smooth curves and what might have been fins or stabilizers along its sides. The hull appeared to be made of some material that absorbed light rather than reflecting it, giving the vehicle an unsettling quality, as if it were a hole in reality rather than a physical object.
"The vehicle is prepared, Lady Carmilla," one of the agent robots announced, its voice flat and emotionless. "All systems are operational. Estimated travel time to Netherlands territorial waters: forty-seven hours, accounting for oceanic currents and the need to avoid commercial shipping lanes."
"Excellent," Carmilla replied, not looking up from the holographic display she was studying. "Run a final diagnostic on the stealth systems. I want to be absolutely certain we won't show up on any sensors, military or civilian."
"Acknowledged, Lady Carmilla."
Angela was about to say something when Eve suddenly stiffened. Her entire body went rigid, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, and her eyes widened with something that looked like recognition or perhaps fear.
"Eve?" Angela asked, concern creeping into her voice. "What's wrong?"
Eve didn't respond immediately. She turned slowly, almost mechanically, until she was facing the forest. Her gaze was fixed on something in the distance, though Angela couldn't see anything unusual just trees and shadows and the fading afternoon light filtering through the canopy.
Then, without warning, Eve ran.
It wasn't a casual jog or a careful walk. It was a full sprint, her synthetic body moving with inhuman speed and grace, covering the distance from the platform to the tree line in seconds. She didn't look back, didn't slow down, just plunged directly into the forest as if pulled by invisible strings.
"Eve!" Angela shouted, her voice sharp with alarm. "Where are you going?!"
Panic flared in Angela's chest an increased heart rate and a rush of adrenaline analogs. She broke into a run, chasing after Eve without thinking, without planning, purely on instinct.
"Eve! Stop!" she called again, louder this time, desperation bleeding into her voice.
She hit the tree line at full speed, branches whipping at her face and arms. The synthetic skin registered the impacts as pain not the deep, genuine pain she remembered from before the fire, but a pale imitation that her brain interpreted as discomfort. She pushed through anyway, following the sound of Eve's footsteps ahead of her.
The forest was darker than it had appeared from outside, the canopy thick enough to filter most of the sunlight into a dim, greenish twilight. The ground was uneven, covered in roots and fallen branches and patches of moss that made footing treacherous. Angela's breath came in harsh gasps
another programmed response, her body maintaining the illusion of humanity even though she didn't technically need to breathe.
"Eve!" she screamed, and this time there was real fear in her voice. "You shouldn't run right now! We need to stay together!"
But Eve didn't stop. If anything, she seemed to be moving faster, as if whatever was pulling her forward had intensified its grip.
Angela pushed herself harder, her legs pumping, her arms swinging for balance as she navigated the treacherous terrain. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She could feel it trickling down her temple, could feel the burn in her muscles that wasn't quite real but felt real enough.
*What the hell is wrong with her?* Angela thought frantically. *She was fine just a minute ago. What changed? What did she see?*
They ran deeper into the forest, the trees growing thicker and older, their trunks massive and gnarled with age. The undergrowth became denser, and Angela found herself having to duck under low-hanging branches and push through clusters of ferns that seemed determined to slow her progress. She lost sight of Eve for a moment, panic spiking through her chest, but then she caught a flash of white hair ahead and adjusted her trajectory.
*If I lose her in here, if something happens to her, Carmilla will kill me. Hell, I'll kill myself.*
The thought was melodramatic, but Angela couldn't help it. Despite everything despite the resentment, despite the complicated history, despite the fact that Eve wasn't even human she cared about the synthetic woman even If she doesn't show. Somewhere along the way, without quite realizing it, she'd started to think of Eve as something more than just a tool or a companion. As someone worth protecting.
How far had they come? It felt like miles, though it might have only been a few hundred yards. Time had a way of distorting when you were running through unfamiliar terrain, chasing someone who wouldn't stop or explain what they were doing. Angela's legs were protecting phantom pain from muscles that weren't quite real, but her brain interpreted the signals anyway, making the exhaustion feel genuine.
The forest opened suddenly into a clearing, and Angela nearly ran directly into Eve, who had stopped so abruptly that it seemed unnatural, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned off her motor functions.
"Eve, what—" Angela began, but the words died in her throat as she looked past her companion and saw what had caused her to stop.
In the center of the clearing, completely incongruous with the natural surroundings, stood a restaurant.
It wasn't a rustic cabin or a wilderness lodge or any structure that might reasonably exist in the middle of the Canadian forest. It was an actual restaurant, the kind you might find on a city street corner, with large windows that glowed with warm interior light, a door with a brass handle polished to a mirror shine, and even a small sign hanging above the entrance that read "The Wanderer's Rest" in elegant, old-fashioned script.
The building looked perfectly maintained, as if someone had plucked it from a metropolitan area and dropped it here without bothering to explain why. The windows were spotless, the door freshly painted a deep burgundy, and through the glass Angela could see tables and chairs arranged in neat rows, white tablecloths draped over each surface.
"Restaurant?" Eve's voice was soft, confused, tinged with an uncertainty that Angela had rarely heard from her. She took a few tentative steps forward, her head tilted as she studied the impossible structure. "How can a restaurant be here?"
Angela had no answer. She stood beside Eve, her chest heaving with exertion, staring at the building while her mind tried and failed to make sense of its existence. They were in the middle of nowhere, miles from any road or settlement, in a forest so dense that even finding this clearing should have been nearly impossible. Yet here was this perfectly ordinary restaurant, as if reality had hiccupped and dropped it in the wrong location.
The logical part of Angela's brain the part that had been trained in strategy and tactical analysis was screaming that this was a trap. Buildings didn't just appear in the wilderness. This had to be some kind of setup, some elaborate scheme by the Sinners or another enemy faction. They should turn around right now, get back to the platform, get Carmilla, and approach this with proper planning and backup.
But another part of her a deeper, more instinctive part was telling her that whatever this place was, it was important. That they were meant to find it. That turning back now would be a mistake.
Eve's internal processes were working overtime, analyzing the situation from every angle her systems could access. *Something is wrong, isn't it?* she thought, though thought wasn't quite the right word for the complex interplay of calculations and simulations running through her synthetic consciousness. *I'm moving by myself. I feel a heart calling me. What is it?*
The sensation was unlike anything she had experienced before. It wasn't data or programming or any logical process she could identify. It was something else, something that felt almost organic, as if some part of her that shouldn't exist was responding to a stimulus that shouldn't be possible.
She reached up and touched her head, her fingers pressing against the synthetic skin of her temple, as if trying to physically access the thoughts that were forming there. The moment her fingers made contact, her vision flickered.
It wasn't a memory. She didn't have memories, not real ones just recorded data and programmed responses. But this felt like a memory, vivid and immediate and intensely personal.
She saw a figure in darkness, their features obscured by shadow. The silhouette was humanoid but somehow wrong, proportions slightly off, movements slightly too fluid or too rigid she couldn't tell which. And she heard a voice that seemed to come from very far away and also from right inside her skull, speaking with an intensity that made her processing systems spike with activity.
"I will try again," the voice said, and there was such profound sadness in those words, such desperate determination, that Eve felt something inside her chest constrict even though she had no real chest to constrict. "And give you good life."
The vision or whatever it was faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Eve standing in the clearing with her hand still pressed to her head, her eyes wide with confusion and something that might have been fear.
"What was that?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "And what... what is a good life?"
The questions spiraled through her consciousness without finding any solid ground to rest upon. A good life. The phrase should have meant something her databases contained thousands of references to the concept, philosophical treatises and religious texts and casual conversations all attempting to define what constituted a good life. But none of that intellectual knowledge helped her understand what the voice had meant, or why the promise had felt so important, or why it had sounded so sad.
Angela was watching her with growing concern, her very human face creased with worry. "Eve? Are you okay? You're acting strange. What happened?"
"I..." Eve started, then stopped, unsure how to explain something she didn't understand herself. How could she tell Angela about a voice that shouldn't exist, promising something she couldn't comprehend? "I'm fine. I just... I feel something off. We should go inside."
"Inside?" Angela looked at the restaurant again, skepticism and fear warring on her face. "Eve, this is obviously some kind of trap. Restaurants don't just appear in the middle of forests. We should go back to the platform, get Carmilla, and—"
But Eve was already moving toward the door, drawn by that same inexplicable pull that had led her here in the first place. Something in that building had answers. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did, with a certainty that transcended logic or reason.
"Eve, wait!" Angela called, but she was already following, unable to let Eve face whatever this was alone. She cursed under her breath, her hand instinctively moving to where a weapon would have been if she'd been carrying one. She wasn't, of course
they'd been traveling light, relying on Carmilla's security measures rather than personal armaments. Now she wished she'd been more paranoid.
*If we die in here,* Angela thought grimly, *I'm going to be so pissed.*
Eve pushed open the door, and a small bell chimed an absurdly normal sound that somehow made the entire situation feel even more surreal. The interior of the restaurant was exactly what it appeared to be from outside: a well-maintained dining establishment with tables covered in clean white cloth, chairs arranged precisely, and ambient lighting that created a warm, welcoming atmosphere.
But there was something wrong with it. Something that made Angela's skin crawl despite the pleasant appearance.
The tables weren't just set they had food on them. Steaming plates of pasta, fresh salads with vegetables that looked like they'd been picked moments ago, baskets of bread that released the warm scent of recent baking. Wine glasses filled with dark red liquid that caught the light. Coffee cups with steam still rising from them in thin, lazy spirals.
All of it fresh. All of it untouched. All of it sitting there as if customers had just been served and then simply vanished.
"What the hell?" Angela breathed, her eyes scanning the room. The food looked real, smelled real, but there was no one here to eat it. No waiters moving between tables. No kitchen sounds drifting from the back. No customers enjoying meals or conversations. Just empty chairs and full plates and that warm light casting shadows that seemed slightly too long, slightly too dark.
Eve moved further into the restaurant, her eyes scanning every detail, her synthetic senses alert for any threat or anomaly. The smell of the food was overwhelming garlic and herbs and fresh bread and roasted meat all the scents of a functioning restaurant, but with no source, no explanation for how they'd appeared.
*There's no one here,* she thought. *No waiter, no kitchen staff, no one. Just... food. Fresh food. How?*
"Hello?" Angela called out, her voice echoing strangely in the empty space, as if the room were much larger than it appeared. "Is anyone here?"
No response came, just the echo of her own voice fading into silence that felt heavy, oppressive, wrong.
Then Eve saw him.
At the far end of the restaurant, seated alone at a table near the window, was a figure. He sat with his back to them, perfectly still, and on the table in front of him was a single cup of coffee, steam rising from it in thin, lazy spirals.
The man wore black a black cape that draped over the back of his chair, a blue waistcoat over a black shirt, black pants, and black gloves on his hands. At his side, leaning against the chair, was a scabbard containing what appeared to be a sword, though the weapon itself was not visible.
His hair was long and black, falling past his shoulders in waves that caught the light when he moved.
Eve felt something stir in her chest
recognition, perhaps, though she had no memory of ever seeing this person before. Angela tensed beside her, every muscle in her body going taut, ready for violence.
"Miss Eve," a voice said, and the figure slowly turned to face them.
Angela's breath caught in her throat a reflexive gasp that had nothing to do with needing air and everything to do with the primal human response to witnessing something terrible.
Half of his face was burned.
The damage was extensive, covering the entire right side from his temple down to his jaw. The skin was scarred and discolored, twisted into patterns that spoke of fire and agony and miraculous survival. The tissue was tight and shiny in places, rough and puckered in others, creating a landscape of suffering across his face. His right eye was still functional, though surrounded by damaged tissue, and it regarded them with an intensity that was both curious and calculating.
His left side, by contrast, was unmarked
handsome even, with sharp features and brown eyes that seemed to contain depths of experience that belied his apparent age. The contrast between the two halves of his face was jarring, almost painful to look at, as if two different people had been fused together.
But it was his voice that struck Angela most
warm, cultured, precise, with an accent she couldn't quite place. Something that suggested multiple languages and cultures blended together over many years.
"You finally arrived here," he continued, and there was genuine warmth in his tone, as if he were greeting old friends rather than strangers who'd stumbled into his impossible restaurant.
Eve stood frozen, shock and confusion warring for dominance in her expression. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again as she struggled to find words.
"How..." she finally managed, her voice small and uncertain. "How do you know me?"
The scarred man picked up his coffee cup with his gloved hand and took a slow, deliberate sip. He seemed to savor it, his eyes
both the damaged and undamaged
closing briefly in appreciation, before setting the cup back down with careful precision. When he spoke again, his tone carried a hint of amusement, as if Eve's confusion was somehow expected and even endearing.
"Well," he said, drawing the word out slightly, "perhaps it doesn't matter for now."
Angela felt a surge of anger cut through her fear. She stepped forward, her fists clenched at her sides, her voice sharp and demanding. "You think this is a joke? Just tell us! How do you know Eve? Who are you? What is this place?"
The man turned his full attention to Angela, and she felt a chill run down her spine. There was something in his eyes both the damaged one and the undamaged one that suggested he had seen things, experienced things, that would break most people. The burned half of his face seemed to tell a story of suffering that she couldn't begin to imagine. Yet he looked at her not with hostility but with a kind of patient understanding, like someone who had long ago accepted the cruelty of the world and found a way to exist within it anyway.
"I know her," he said calmly, his voice never losing its warmth despite Angela's aggression, "through the man I came with."
"Huh?" Eve's confusion intensified, her processing systems struggling to make sense of this new information. "Who is he? What man? I don't understand."
The scarred man set down his coffee cup and stood, his movements graceful despite the heavy cape and the sword at his side. He was tall,taller than Angela had initially realized, perhaps six feet or more, with a lean, athletic build that suggested years of physical training. He turned to face them fully, and performed a small, formal bow that seemed to come from a different era, a different culture, a different world entirely.
The gesture was so unexpected, so out of place in this bizarre situation, that Angela found herself momentarily speechless.
"Oh, my apologies," he said, and the formality of his tone was somehow at odds with the casual setting of the restaurant and the strangeness of their meeting. "I haven't introduced myself properly. That was rude of me."
He straightened from his bow, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight of history and significance that made the words feel important, consequential.
"I am Hariharan," he said simply, his brown eye and his damaged eye both fixed on them with equal intensity. "I served as a knight in the Valmor Empire."
The name meant nothing to Angela. She frowned, searching her mValmo both her biological memories from before the fire and the knowledge she'd accumulated since but came up empty. The Valmor Empire. She'd never heard of it. Not in any history class, not in any database she'd accessed, not in any conversation she could recall.
"Huh?" she said, unable to keep the confusion from her voice. "I've never heard of that empire before. When did it exist? Where?"
Eve was equally lost, shaking her head slowly. Her synthetic eyes were processing data at incredible speeds, searching through historical databases, cross-referencing names and dates and locations, but finding nothing. "Me neither. I don't have any records of a Valmor Empire. Not in any historical database I can access. Nothing at all."
Hariharan's expression shifted slValmoy the undamaged side of his mouth curving into a small, sad smile that somehow made the burned side of his face look even more tragic by contrast. It was a smile that spoke of loss and acceptance, of knowing things that others didn't and bearing that knowledge alone.
"Well," he said softly, and there was a depth of melancholy in that single word that made Angela's chest tighten, "that's because of—" He paused, seeming to reconsider his words. Then he shook his head slightly, as if dismissing whatever he'd been about to say. "Actually, I'll let you know about that later. It's... complicated. And not something I can explain in a few words."
"Later?" Angela's voice rose with frustration and barely suppressed panic. "What do you mean, later? We're standing in an impossible restaurant in the middle of nowhere, there's fresh food everywhere but no people, you somehow know Eve's name, and you're telling us you'll explain later?"
Her hands were shaking not from fear, exactly, but from the sheer overwhelming strangeness of the situation. Nothing made sense. Nothing followed any logical pattern. And this man, this scarred knight from an empire that didn't exist, was being cryptic and mysterious when what she needed was answers, clarity, something solid to hold onto.
Hariharan looked at her with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. "I understand your frustration," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "But some things... some things need to be revealed in their proper time. Trust me when I say that explaining everything right now would only create more confusion, not less."
"Trust you?" Angela laughed, and it came out harsh and bitter. "We don't even know you!"
"True," Hariharan acknowledged with a slight nod. "But you came here anyway. Eve felt something calling her, didn't she? Something she couldn't explain or resist. And you followed her, even though you knew it might be a trap." His gaze moved between them, assessing, understanding. "That took courage. Both of you."
Eve found her voice again, though it trembled slightly. "The voice... in my head. 'I will try again and give you good life.' Was that... was that you?"
"No," Hariharan said, and there was something in his tone a hint of sadness, perhaps, or regret that suggested he wished he could give a different answer. "That wasn't me. But I know who it was. Or rather... I know why you heard it."
"Then tell us!" Angela demanded, taking another step forward, her fear transforming into anger because anger was easier to handle, easier to understand. "Stop being cryptic and just tell us what's going on!"
Hariharan's expression became more serious, the warmth fading from his eyes and being replaced by something harder, more determined. "There is another person," he said, his voice taking on an edge of urgency. "Someone who traveled with me to this place. He has information that you need, answers to questions you haven't even thought to ask yet. But before you can meet him, before any of this can make sense, you need to understand something."
He paused, and in that pause Angela felt the weight of whatever revelation was coming, felt it pressing down on her like a physical force.
"What you're involved in what Eve's synthetic soul represents, what the Tree of Hope actually is, why the Sinners and S.O.W. are both hunting you it's all connected to something much larger than you realize. Something that spans..." He hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. "Something that goes beyond what you think is possible."
Eve's processors were working at maximum capacity, trying to analyze his words, trying to find patterns and meanings in what he wasn't saying as much as what he was. "Beyond what's possible," she repeated slowly. "What does that mean? Are you talking about... other realities? Other worlds?"
Hariharan's sad smile returned. "Clever girl. But that's all I can say for now. The rest... the rest needs to come from him. From the person I came with."
"Then where is he?" Angela asked, her voice still sharp but now tinged with exhaustion. She was tired of mysteries, tired of half-answers, tired of feeling like she was stumbling through darkness without understanding where she was or where she was going.
"Close," Hariharan replied. "Very close. But first, you need to—"
The scene shifted abruptly.
Back at the landing platform, Carmilla stood alone or as alone as one could be while surrounded by agent robots. The machines had finished loading the underwater vehicle and were now running final diagnostic checks, their movements efficient and synchronized in that way that organic beings could never quite manage.
She should have been supervising them, should have been double-checking every system and reviewing the travel plans. Instead, she found herself standing at the edge of the platform, looking toward the forest where Angela and Eve had disappeared, a cigarette burning forgotten between her fingers.
*They've been gone too long,* she thought, though she couldn't have said exactly how long "too long" was. Ten minutes? Fifteen? Time had a way of distorting when you were worried about someone, and despite her best efforts to maintain professional detachment, she was worried.
She took a drag from her cigarette, held it, exhaled slowly. The smoke curled away into the cold Canadian air, dispersing among the trees. *I should go after them. But I can't leave the vehicle unattended, and if we all go running off into the forest, we'll lose our window for departure.*
It was a classic strategic dilemma, one she'd faced dozens of times in her years with S.O.W. Sometimes staying put was the right call. Sometimes it wasn't. The trick was knowing which was which before it was too late.
She thought of William, and felt the familiar ache of loss duller now than it had been, wrapped in layers of emotional distance that might have been her powers at work or might have just been normal human adaptation to trauma. Either way, she couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not now.
*Focus on the mission,* she told herself firmly. *Get to the Netherlands. Find Valenora. Deal with whatever we find there. Grieve later.*
One of the agent robots approached, its movements precise and mechanical. "Lady Carmilla, all systems are operational. We are prepared for departure at your command."
"Good," she replied, not turning to look at it. "Begin pre-launch procedures. We depart in fifteen minutes. That should give Angela and Eve enough time to return."
"And if they do not return within that timeframe?"
Carmilla's jaw tightened. "Then we go looking for them. But they'll be back."
The robot didn't respond, just turned and returned to its duties. Carmilla took another drag from her cigarette and tried to believe her own words.
She pulled out a small holographic projector from her coat one of her own inventions, naturally. With a few quick gestures, she activated it, and a three-dimensional display materialized in the air before her.
News feeds. Multiple sources, multiple languages, all being translated in real-time by her enhanced cognitive implants. She needed to know what the world looked like right now, what threats were emerging, what complications might await them.
She cycled through several feeds before stopping on one from Nazi Germany. The broadcaster was speaking in German, but Carmilla's implants automatically translated the words.
"Nazi Germany increased security measures along all borders, particularly in the occupied territories. These enhanced protocols are necessary to protect the Fatherland from external threats."
Carmilla smiled without humor. "Well, as I expected," she murmured. The Sinners would have alerted them. It was the logical move, the obvious countermeasure. She'd planned for it, of course, but it did mean their journey was going to be more complicated.
She switched feeds, focusing on the Netherlands. A weather report appeared, showing a map with angry red zones marked across the country.
"The weather continues to worsen," the Dutch broadcaster was saying, her voice tight with anxiety. "What began as unusual precipitation has evolved into something meteorologists are struggling to explain. The rain itself appears to have a reddish tint—"
The camera cut to footage of the rain falling on Amsterdam's streets. Even through the holographic display, Carmilla could see that it wasn't quite right. The color was off not quite red, not quite brown, something in between that her brain kept trying to interpret as blood even though she knew that was impossible. The liquid fell in thick drops, splashing against pavement with a viscosity that seemed wrong for water.
"Scientists are still investigating, but the weather service predicts conditions will worsen over the next for 3 days"
Carmilla froze the image, studying the footage. Her analytical mind worked through possibilities, discarding obvious explanations and focusing on more esoteric ones.
"Interesting," she said softly. "Perhaps it could be some other reason."
Normal contamination didn't look like that. Which left less scientific explanations ones her rational mind wanted to reject but her experience forced her to consider.
"Hmm it look like something worse will happen" She said with smile without humor
She closed the display and took a final drag from her cigarette before crushing it under her boot. Whatever was happening, they would deal with it when they arrived.
She turned to survey the agent robots. All present. The vehicle ready. Everything prepared.
Except Angela and Eve still hadn't returned.
Carmilla looked toward the forest again, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. *Where are you two? What did you find in there?*